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“Oh, that's a dead body.”
Jason grunts, checking his magazine before clicking it back into place. “No shit, Sherlock,” he snarks without looking back. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, y’know,” the intruder says vaguely, and Jason doesn't need to turn to know that the vigilante is rocking on the balls of his feet. “Checking in?”
At that, Jason turns to him, snorting. “Checking in?”
“Mhm.”
“And since when did we do ‘check ins’?”
“...Well this can be the start of a new routine.”
“Right,” Jason says flatly.
Dick shrugs one shoulder, like Jason's skepticism is expected. “You don't answer calls or texts—”
“Because I don't want to.”
“—so I thought why not check up on you in person instead?” Dick finishes, ignoring Jason’s words like he hadn't said anything at all.
Jason narrows his eyes at Dick. “I don't like this…” He gestures vaguely at him, “new you. You didn't care this much when I was Robin. Why the sudden change of heart, huh?”
Dick’s smile tightens.
Bingo.
“You were easier to keep track of back then,” he mutters through gritted teeth, but he waves a hand, as if trying to act nonchalant. “Because, y’know. You were living with Bruce 24/7.”
“Sure,” Jason says bitterly, tilting his helmeted head. “Because little Jason definitely didn't want his big brother checking in back then. Especially when Bruce isn’t around.”
Dick narrows his eyes, obvious even behind the domino mask. “I was trying.”
Jason clicks his tongue. “Not hard enough to matter.”
Something in Dick’s expression flickers at that— quick, sharp, almost offended before he schools it back into something neutral.
Dick sighs tiredly, running his fingers through his hair while his other hand rests on his hip. “Listen, I didn't come here to—”
“Lecture me? Fight? Gloat about how Tim got the much better version of someone who was supposed to be my brother first?”
“—argue about the past,” Dick bites out. He sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I heard news about… Joker’s escape.”
Jason tenses, eyes shifting to the shadows behind Dick unconsciously. He doesn't know what exactly he’s looking for— a grin that haunts him every night, or a familiar silhouette of a man that haunts him everyday.
“And I just wanted to know if you’re…” Dick trails off, looking away for a second. “Safe.”
“I’m not going back to the fucking Cave or Manor if that’s what you’re implying,” Jason spats, whirling around to face the corpse instead, which suddenly became more interesting.
“I’m not implying anything,” Dick insists, hints of frustration bleeding through his words. “I just wanted to make sure you have a safe place to stay. Away from Joker.”
“Because he might kill me again or because I might kill him?”
“Jason.”
“That’s not an answer,” he says, kicking the body over before crouching down to retrieve a burner phone in the back pocket. “So which one is it?”
The silence itself is already an answer for Jason.
He scoffs, pocketing the phone without bothering to check. He can do it later, when he’s not in the company of a vigilante. Then, he picks the wallet off the corpse and rummages it, keeping the few hundred bills with him.
Dick sighs behind him, but he makes no move to stop him.
“Y’know,” Jason starts as he stuffs the cash in his jacket pocket, kicking the body again just for the fun of it. “You said you were here for a check in,” he points out, turning to look at Dick. “But you haven't even asked a single question.”
The vigilante shifts his weight from one foot to another, chewing on his bottom lip.
“I don't know what I’m supposed to do here, Jason.”
“You never did.”
“That’s not fair,” Dick snaps. “I’m trying. I don’t know what else you want from me— I fucked up when we were younger, yeah, but I’m trying now.”
“But I don't need you now,” Jason retorts back, crossing his arms. “The kid you didn't care enough about did.”
“I was barely an adult, Jay.”
Jason laughs, sharp and bitter. “And I was just a kid who needed his brother.”
Dick flinches at that, guilt written all over his body. He turns his head away slightly.
“Well,” Jason drawls, gesturing at Dick. “If you’re done ‘checking in’—” He makes air quotes with his fingers, “—or whatever this is, I suggest you leave my territory before I shoot you.”
The vigilante hesitates for a second, dragging a hand down his face. Then, he sighs. “Are you—” He stops, exhales. “Have you been sleeping well?”
Jason doesn't answer. He just stares at him, white lenses of his helmet unblinking.
The silence stretches.
Dick shifts uncomfortably before sighing, rubbing his face. “There’s a chance that Joker might pass by here. If he sees you, he might…” He swallows, “he might hurt you again.”
“He can try,” Jason scoffs, hands twitching against his holsters. “I’m not the same kid he killed.”
“You might not be,” Dick says, after a beat, quieter now. “But he’s still the one who did it.”
Jason studies him for a moment before exhaling sharply, walking past Dick. “Get out of here, Nightwing.”
“Jason, wait—”
He keeps walking.
“If you see him—” Dick says, loud enough for Jason to hear it anyway. “—call me. Please.”
Jason doesn't offer a reply. He doesn't look back either, afraid of what he might find— his killer, or the man he once thought of as a father standing in the dark, like they’re the same thing.
He pulls out his grappling gun and swings into the night. Jason doesn't think about Dick. He doesn't think about the Joker. He thinks of nothing.
Out of sight, out of mind.
He swings onto a rooftop— far from Dick— and unlatches his helmet, pulling it off with a grunt.
Crime Alley is quiet for once— maybe the streets are waiting, maybe they’re holding their breath— but it doesn't matter. Red Hood will protect them. That’s what he does. That’s what he always does. Joker’s escaped before. Gotham’s survived before. And Jason survived him too.
He shifts his helmet under his arm and grabs his pack of cigarettes and lighter, tapping the box against his palm. He stares into the distance as he pulls out a stick, lighting it up with practiced ease.
If he strains his ears just enough, he can almost hear the distant growl of the Batmobile.
It’s a habit he picked up long before he became Robin— sitting in the living room of their tiny apartment while his parents slept, listening hard for Batman racing through Gotham’s streets. Whether he listened out of awe or wariness, he can’t remember anymore.
He never quite grew out of it.
After Bruce took him in, it became a way to know Bruce had made it home safely on nights Robin wasn't out on patrol with him.
Now, it’s something else entirely.
Now, it’s how he makes sure the Bat never finds him.
There's a noise in the shadows.
Jason grabs his gun and turns before he can even think, aiming straight at the darkness. He doesn't move, and neither did the shadows.
Then a rat darts out from wherever it comes from, and disappears into a vent.
“Jesus Christ,” he grits out around his cigarette, his jaw aching. He hadn't even realised how hard he’d been clenching his teeth. Over nothing.
He holsters his gun, but his eyes never drift far from the shadows behind him.
“Get it together, Jason,” he mutters to himself, eyes darting around the rooftop one last time before he hesitantly turns back to the city. “Dick is just messing with your fucking head.”
Jason unconsciously glances behind him again as he takes a drag of his cigarette, the burn in his throat and lungs distracting him for a second.
When he’s calm enough to not do something stupid again, he sits on the ledge of the rooftop and switches to the Bats’ private frequency. Just in case.
There isn't much to listen to, as he expects. Just useless leads on whatever cases they are investigating. If Oracle notices him lurking in their comm links, she doesn't call him out.
He exhales slowly through his mouth, watching the smoke curl around the air. His comms crackle every now and then, but still no news about Joker.
But he keeps searching the streets below him for green hair and white face paint. He keeps listening for high-pitched laughter that sounds wrong among civilians.
Yet, every laugh sounds wrong tonight.
Every noise makes his head turn. Every passerby makes his fingers grip his cigarette tighter. Every mention of Joker’s name in the comms makes his skin crawl.
Breathe, he tells himself, already lighting another cigarette before the first one has even burned halfway down. You’re fine.
“...still no sightings of Joker…”
“...about Crime Alley?”
“...Red Hood… not sure…”
His jaw tightens at the mention of his name. He didn't know what exactly Dick told them, but if he sees them stepping foot in his territory, he’ll shoot them. No hesitation. Doesn't matter if Joker is on the loose in Crime Alley.
He flicks the ashes off his cigarette and throws it away before reaching for another one—
There’s a sound of metal scraping against concrete.
Jason freezes.
There’s a sound of metal scraping against concrete.
Crowbar dragging against the warehouse floor.
He whips around at that, gun already in his hand as he shoots at the shadows, his breathing coming out too fast for his liking.
The bullet hits a brick.
“You’ve been a bad boy.”
“Shut up,” Jason grits out, his eyes darting around frantically, searching for the voice, fingers gripping tight around his gun. He whirls around, the sound of faint laughter from below catching his attention.
No Joker. Just a group of teenaged boys hanging out like any other teens their age would. Jason exhales shakily and stands up, grabbing his helmet. He moves away from the ledge.
“You must be punished!”
Jason stumbles over his feet, gun cluttering beside him as drops into a crouch, burying his face into his gloved hands like it can protect him from the voice. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get his lungs to function properly.
“You’re just in my head,” he whispers to himself, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes.
You’re not here.
You’re not here.
You’re not here.
“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me.”
“I’m alive,” he reminds himself. “I’m older. I’m bigger. I’m not the same kid—” He swallows, his throat feeling dry. “‘m not the same kid he killed.”
The words sound hollow in his ears, like he's telling himself a lie.
CLANG.
Jason flinches, scrambling backward until his back hits the wall, his gaze unfocused yet still searching for the weapon— the figure.
Dust.
Concrete.
The smell of blood.
His blood.
Cigarette smoke.
Sheila.
A laugh.
Another scrape of metal against the floor.
CLANG.
“C’mon, kid! You can take it!”
Jason squeezes his eyes shut again.
He's on a rooftop in Crime Alley.
He’s not fifteen anymore.
He’s not in Ethiopia.
He’s not a kid.
He’s not a kid.
He’s not—
“Jason?”
It sounds too real. Too close, yet so far— muffled, despite nothing in his ears.
“Get out of my fucking head!” he snaps, curling in on himself further.
“Jason, it’s me,” the voice warps— never staying the same long enough to belong to anyone. He hears Joker. Bruce. Dick. All at once, and none of them at all.
“No— no, no— you’re not real. None of this— none of this is real—”
“I’m real, Jay,” the voice insists, as a warm hand touches his forearm— skin to skin where his armour and jacket leave him exposed. “Focus. Ground yourself.”
The hand feels familiar. Calloused in a way that Jason recognises immediately, even if his mind refuses to settle on a name.
“I— I can’t—”
“You can,” the voice says firmly. “You know where you are. You know who you are. Tell me.”
“I’m— I’m Jason Todd,” he rasps, pressing his fingers into his shut eyes. “I don't— I can’t—” He cuts himself off, forcing a breath. “I’m… in Gotham. Crime Alley.”
“Good,” the voice says, softer now. “Now tell me who I am.”
Jason drags his hands down to see, blinking hard to get rid of the black spots dancing in his vision. His eyes won’t settle, too blurred to focus, but he’s able to recognise the person crouched in front of him.
“Dick,” he breathes.
“Hey,” Dick mutters, shifting away just enough to give Jason breathing space as he pulls on his gloves. “Feeling better?”
Jason lets his head hit the wall behind him, shoulders drooping in exhaustion. He stares blankly over Dick’s shoulder, like there’s a possibility that Joker might appear behind him anyway.
“Feeling like shit,” he corrects after a beat, running a gloved hand through his hair. He can feel sweat dripping from his hairline. Jason stares at Dick for a moment too long, like he’s making sure he’s actually there. Then, a beat late— “Didn't I tell you to fuck off?”
“How about a ‘thank you, Dick’ instead?” The vigilante snarks back and pauses, before sighing heavily, hanging his head between his knees. “Babs noticed you were on comms for too long. She got worried.”
Jason offers nothing but a rough grunt, finally tearing his gaze away from the spot behind Dick. “I’m fine now,” he says flatly. “Go.”
Dick sighs. “Jason—”
“No,” he interrupts sharply. “I’m not doing this with you again,” Jason snaps despite the exhaustion weighing on his body. “You don't care. I don't care. Whatever— end of story.”
“I never said—”
“Doesn’t matter what you did or didn't say. I want you gone. Now.”
“Just let me talk for a second!” Dick snaps, and if Jason had the strength, he'd already be stabbing him. The vigilante sighs, shifting to sit on the ground across from Jason. “You’re not okay.” Jason opens his mouth to argue but Dick cuts him off with a raised hand. “I just watched you scare yourself half to death on this rooftop. You can stay at my place in Blüd just until he’s gone—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“—or I’ll call Bruce, and neither of us wants that,” Dick continues, his glare visible even through his domino mask. “It’s either one of those choices, Jason. It’s not a debate.”
“And do I get a choice in this?” He asks, irritation flaring hot in his chest. Dick doesn't get to play big brother now, not after the kid who needed one is long gone. “Because I want neither.”
Dick stares at him for a long moment. “You know what’s pissing me off right now?”
Jason arches an eyebrow. “Didn't know the new you was allowed to.”
“That you’re sitting here acting like this isn't getting to you,” Dick says firmly, ignoring Jason’s comment. “Not after what I just saw.”
“Congratulations,” Jason lets out a short, humourless laugh. “You caught me having a bad night. So what? Want me to talk it out?”
“Jay, c’mon, I’m—”
“Trying? Yeah, you’ve said that earlier. Doesn't mean I should care.”
“Worried,” Dick corrects him sharply, frustration slipping through. “And I’m not asking you to care. I’m asking you to be somewhere safe until this is over.”
Jason stares blankly at him for a long moment.
“Spend a week at Blüd. Or just until Joker is caught.”
His gaze drifts past Dick’s shoulder. For a split second, something red flickers at the edge of his vision. A grin or blood, he doesn't know.
“Four days,” Jason says flatly. “Doesn't matter if Joker isn't caught yet. I’m leaving then,” his voice turns firm, despite the lingering tension in his shoulders. “And this doesn't make us buddies.”
“Four days,” Dick agrees.
Jason doesn't know if he feels relieved, or just pissed off that he agreed at all.